Absence is a hunger
by Eaasybugboy
Summary: Hunger is a dangerous curse, be it absence or the demon creeping inside you, it swallows you whole and leaves nothing but bits of your heart scattered to the wind. POST SEASON 4. Two shot.
1. One

Three hundred years was, considering it from a neutral point of view, a large amount of time where knowledge and experience would turn a man wise. Some would even come to believe that it could turn a man stoic before the most tragic events. The ironic repetition of a life paved by the loss of loved ones would make more than one man laugh bitterly. He had had his share of nights in the company of a bottle of the finest or not so finest alcohol, laughing at the sweet irony. Fate had a strange and twisted way to play with your life, Killian Jones had come to realize. It was not so much by anger that he had let the thought possess him; he had even wanted to applaud the delicious irony of his sole existence seeming to lead him to this time and this land.

Time where he found himself in love with the savior who had broken the curse that had stopped dead his existence. That curse he had escaped and yet been caught by, frozen for twenty seven years, waiting patiently for her to break it.

It was that kind of irony that had had him laugh and smile without afterthoughts, an irony that was sweetly delicious; if there were a big scheme of things, it would seem perfect. Him and her, the irony was indeed beautiful. Sparks and blonde hair had pulled him out of an ocean of ghosts, pulled him out of an endless madness he had given his body to.

His eyes tried to take into the beauty of the outline of the sea. It was not the boundless horizon that was gorged with possibilities and maybes. Killian found no reliance, no relief, no hope or joyful feeling in the spread sea. His heart did not beat with the familiar and warm pang that animated his whole being. Pirate at heart with the sea running in his blood, this time he felt like a stranger in his own element, the sea rejecting him even though he knew all too well that it had nothing to do with his old mistress.

His flask held carelessly between his fingers, he did not even have the courage to bring the dear alcohol to his lips. His eyes were dry and his cheeks moist, his heart had no more bravery to give and no more tears to provide. Much like the name caved in the dagger, his tears had marked his cheeks with loss; Emma was gone, and he was empty.

A foolish heart would yell at the sky, would find the responsible and try to kill them. Three hundred years ago, he had sworn to kill the Dark One at all cost, no matter the price to pay. Irony had a twisted way of mocking him; he had sworn revenge on the man who had taken everything from him, the entity that had taken his love and his hand.

Now the very monster he had dedicated his life to destroying was the woman he loved.

The thought alone made him clench his teeth, jaw set tight and eyes burning with anger; she was no monster. With closed eyes he only saw her smiles, the dimples of her cheeks and her sparkling eyes. He could not associate the distorted smile of the demon to her kind and warm smile. Coldness bit his bones and froze the blood in his veins; worry cut the air out of his lungs.

Where was she now?

What had happened to her once the demon had swallowed her whole, her body vanishing from their realm and no clue left for them to hold onto.

Shortly after her sacrifice (he refused to think of another noun to qualify it, refused to tarnish the glory of her action), her words craved in his mind with burning letters, his heart heavy by the pain, the regret of not telling her the words sooner and now ever, the hatred he felt for the man still comfortably asleep in his shop, Killian had dropped to his knees.

David had set a kind hand on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around his wife; both of them could barely manage to stand on their feet, ripped away from their daughter - once again taken from them at the price of a learned lesson of courage. That's what heroes do, Killian thought, the bitter lesson sinking deep into him. Killian had barely heard the breathless call of his name, it was Robin trying to reach for him but he had not listened, his fist encountering the hard ground as he had slammed against it until his knuckles were bruised.

 _Henry._

The name fell from his lips as a whispered cry. Who would break the news to him? Killian had gathered himself up and had brushed past Hood and his comforting stance - he had wanted none of it, and still did not desire any soothing balm over the cut and burning flesh. Much like one of Cora's heartless dolls, his eyes empty of emotions, he had walked stoically to the loft where Henry had been safe, waiting for his mother's return. He wanted the pain, raw and heartbreaking, he wanted to feel it in his bones and every cell of his body, as a reminder of the life in him and the love he felt, reminder of her very existence.

David and Snow had followed him in silence. He had known he had to do this, no matter the swelling of his own heart, there had been someone who needed him then and it had been enough to force his dizzy mind to work. Henry had been sitting behind the table in the diner, his book before him and his eyes were still marked by a hopeful smile because he had saved the day, becoming a rightful hero in the line of his mother and grandfather, saving his world and his moms.

Killian had merely been aware of the presence of the whole family behind him, Regina holding onto Robin, Snow trying not to break down, and it had not taken more than three seconds for the boy to understand what had happened. As if time had slowed down, Killian had seen it all; the way Henry's face had crumbled, the way tears had started forming at the corners of his eyes, hope vanishing to leave room for fear, incomprehension, a maelstrom of emotions, pain, loss, disbelief, anger. His fingers clenched over the hard cover of the book supposed to bring back happy endings.

Instinctively, Killian's arms had found Henry and brought the little boy trying to fit into a man's shoes close, the one with a heart too good and too fragile as loss cast its shadow over him. Both of his parents gone, Baelfire and now Emma. The floor had been swiped out beneath his feet and Killian's arms tightened around Henry to keep him upright before David got a hold of the boy, pulling him into a firmer hug.

Killian's hand had found the bank, trying to keep his stance alright. His breath had been shallow and uneven, his mind pounced upon by the aghast memories of them sitting right here. It had been just as if her perfume were still clogging the air. His eyes had burned again with useless tears, wanting to mourn a love that was not dead, an unfound body to cry upon.

He had not seen them after he had taken his leave for the port.

Nobody had followed him and he couldn't help but be thankful they had not tried to hold him back. It was only then that he had sunk on the floor, his back against the guard wall, his limbs not really attached to him anymore, the flask carelessly hanging from his hand.

Fate was a bloody demon that had played with him all along. Rum could not even soothe his pain. The demon was tapping in the dark waiting for him to be defenseless to swallow his being, its sharpened claws only waiting for the soulless and hopeless to fall in its grip, willingly, no fight to be had. Killian's eyes glued to the neck of the flask, as if the imprint of her lips was visible. One last kiss before the oblivion, he delicately pressed his mouth to the flask, closing his eyes, a single tear falling upon his already tainted cheeks.

The glass was cold, unlike her warm lips. The ghost of her mouth was pale, bland compared to the vivid memory of what she felt like. His arms were still, frozen and limp, as if he were hangover, which was not a so undesired a condition now. His arms were cold by the absence of her; the Snow Queen was long time gone but she could just as well have frozen the town over.

The dull feeling born from the absence of a loved one was not unfamiliar to him. He had learned to deal with it over the years, or that was what he had believed until last year, when he had tried to blind himself with a generous amount of alcohol and the bitter sweet illusion provided by a return to old ways. A foolish hope to connect back with an older self, more detached from the core, a foolish attempt at ignoring the dull ache in his chest. There was no fight one could have against it.

Absence was a hunger that needed to be fed.

It was a growing hunger that would never find peace, a black hole settled in him that would swallow him whole without mercy. It was dull, it was hopeless and yet it required him to completely surrender to despair. Last year he had found another kind of mercy in the faint hope that she was out there, out of reach and yet still within it, only a cross between realms away and a possibility of a fight. How and where was he supposed to find her now that he felt like his heart had been taken out of his chest? It was a feeling he had experienced in the past, be it Rumpelstiltskin or Cora; he had felt his heart being taken out of his chest, the veins torn apart, until they released the broken token.

No hope. No light. Her name was on the dagger and now every time he closed his eyes, he could see her foggy ones, tears blurring green, she had closed her eyes with a dying whisper on her lips. This vivid image did not leave him, his ears always ringing with her last words, her _I love you_ , her so awaited words only a prelude to her unspoken goodbye.

Sleep claimed him before he could think of more ways to lull the pain, giving him the relief and clemency of a few hours of a blacked out mind.

Something hit the heel of his boot and forced him out of sleep. He groaned, his lashes glued together, he had to pry them open and he caught the beam of the sunshine - unfair, very unfair and unwanted. The weather was too bright, too warm, as if the town which was supposedly made to b delivered by the Savior had moved on.

"Henry?" He distinguished the boy's face through the beam of sunshine, his hand trying to protect his eyes from the burning stare of the star.

Sitting next to him, Henry looked ahead, his book hugged on his lap protectively. Tired bags had taken place beneath his eyes. "I knew I would found you here."

Killian put the flask of alcohol aside as he sat up straight, to be up to the task - it wasn't about him now. In the past he had been careless in his actions and with his life, for he had no one to look after. Henry had sought him out, and his heart sang along with the boy's. They had both lost her.

"Did she say anything?" Henry asked between closed lips, his teeth clenched, trying too hard not to break the mask of manhood he was wearing. "Did she-"

"She didn't, but she-" Killian's own voice had difficulties to come out as even, and his train of thought was a wreck, his heart not even finding any strength in the sight of the Jolly Roger; it was of little consolation, that he would give ten of her to bring Emma back. "She didn't but I am sure you were on her mind. You should be proud of her."

Henry looked up with moist eyes. "I don't want to be proud of her." He sniffed. "I want her to be here."

It cracked in smithereens, the proud mask he wore and the heroism he got from his mother. It broke and it fell at Killian's feet, the boy's eyes pleading for a hint of hope he did not possess. His nose ended up pressed against Killian's flank. Slightly discomposed, not expecting it, Killian wrapped his arms around Henry and offered him the shelter he so desired, being an anchor if he needed one.

Here was the difference, the need to keep his feet grounded somewhere and never waver. He regretted to have spent the night out beneath the sky, as happy as he was for it had allowed the lad to find him easily, he wished he had been warm and capable to provide him with comfort.

Henry sobbed in silence and Killian did not comment, simply holding him until he was spent, tears dried and heart heavier. "There has to be a way. There is a way."

The book open on his lap, Henry leafed through its many pages. "This is the right story, the one telling everyone's lives, look." He paused at the page where Killian could be found, placing for the first time his hook on. Although Killian felt no shame for what had been done and the decision taken there because it had after all brought him and fed him with enough desire to end up here and now he still shifted a little, not comfortable with Henry taking a closer look at his past.

"And as the arms of the sea swallowed Killian's love, the Captain made an oath to find and kill the demon who had taken everything from him. No matter how long it shall take, or the realms he would have to cross, he would find him."

Henry turned the pages in the haste, "Look here." His finger pointed to the page where Emma and Killian were dancing. It had been only a few months ago and yet it felt like another life. His lips curled into a grin at the memory. But Henry turned the pages again to stop at the page where Dave and him were talking next to a fire. "Look now, _"the pirate in disguise repeated the oath he had made not so long ago about the Savior, to find her no matter the time and realm, swearing his love in her name, swearing to bring her back to safety and to never find peace until she was back home."_ Can you see what it means?"

Brown eyes turned to him with hope, the flash of a ghostly smile on his lips as he shook his head in hopeful disbelief, "It's true isn't it?" It was just now that Killian realized that the lad had spent his night with the book open, the tiredness marking his expression severely. "You would go at the end of the world for her."

"Yes I will." Killian did not see his point.

"It all makes sense!" Henry was suddenly animated, "I didn't connect the dots last night but now it make sense; you're the Dark One's foe."

Killian felt his brows came together as the knots in his stomach started to slowly become unlaced by the lad's words. He could not exactly pinpoint his reasoning but something in him started to slowly burn.

 _Hope._

A smile flirted with his lips. It was not surprising that they said Henry was the truest believer. Trust the son of the Savior to always believe and have hope for those who are wandering hopelessly and give them the nudge needed to get up.

Other words came to echo Henry's, darker and much more sinister. To undo the Dark One's curse, the Crocodile had needed his heart. "Rumpelstiltskin said something to me when he had me at his mercy." Instinctively he felt the muscles of his face tighten, stiff with the memory of the Crocodile's grip around his heart, "That he needed me because I knew him before he was the Dark One and he needed my heart to disconnect himself from his true form."

Anger was still trapped in the shadows of his heart, as if sullied by the Dark One's touch, as if by being used and bent to his will, forced to commit actions he repulsed, to kill and to hurt, he had been made a monster by the hand of one.

"It should apply to my mom." Henry stopped his thoughts. "It should work Hook, you were Mr. Gold's foe and you had the potential to unleash him." He stopped as he realized the weight of his words and the consequences they held.

As full of potential as his heart might be, it was in the state of ashes that it worked best. And yet, it was just like Killian had seen the light, bright and warm hope filling his being. Henry's eyes were hopeful but now tainted with the weight of an upcoming sacrifice they both could foreshadow.

Killian's hand turned the pages to the one where Emma and him were dancing, his fingers tapping the lines that formed her dress. It had been only hours, yet the missing her had torn deep into him. "Tell me what is your plan."

"We summon the Dark One- Mom."

"You don't have to call her that."

Henry reached for something in his pocket and gave him the dagger. "Isn't her name on the dagger though?"

"I believe your mom is stronger than this dark magic, I believe she will outrun it." It was only then that he realized the unspoken; he had not fully grasped the belief that was lodged in his heart that no matter how dark the magic was, how twisted it was and how hard it tried to wrap itself around her, Emma could outrun the evil. She had been tempted by the darkness for months now, he had seen the redness lining her eyes and seen her close to the fall, and she had not fallen.

Had she?

 _No she had not._

As painful and as aching he had been left, her words still rang in his ears, his eyelids still burned with the image of her raising.

The Truest Hero.

Her sacrifice had not been part of Rumpelstiltskin's plan, she had risen and outshone the prediction of a mad man. She had risen so high and be damned those who lost faith.

Damned him too for losing hope.

"We need to find her."

Henry's feet were light on the old planks of the Jolly Roger. Many times they had been there and sailed, and even though it was eerie to be there without Emma, they both walked with a new hope fueling their systems. They had the beginnings of a plan.

Killian had with great care avoided his private cabins, too many memories he did not want to be confronted with, moments stolen from the messy world of Storybrooke and yet stolen back by her duties. They never had full moments for themselves; Emma was always on watch for something, wearing her gun as he wore his sword. He did not regret it, not to have held her back these times. It would have been selfish and she wouldn't be who she was if it weren't for her heart and mercy, his only relief found in the way her smile cracked up and managed to chase away the loneliness she was known to carry.

Now that his heart carried the dim hope of her being saved, it livened up his veins and his blood pulsed faster than ever, the idea of his death as a necessity not even an alarming thought slowing his anticipation.

If fate was ironic, there was a purpose to his life and death had been a cheated mistress he had never paid his omen to. If bringing Emma back needed the price of his life then so be it.

"I tried to summon her last night." Henry broke the silence.

"There is no shame in trying, lad, I would have done the same."

"It didn't work."

Killian offered him a soft smile, "I would have guessed so; I doubt she is in our realm."

Henry sat at the desk as if he belonged there, a more than pleasant sight that filled Killian with a certain pride. There was a lot of Baelfire in the shape of his eyes, yet there was in the flicker of his mouth and the way he talked a lot of his mother's fire. The heroic vibe he got was definitely a family thing, and Dave had something to be proud of. The lad's attention was on the different instruments on the desk, all nautical trinkets Killian no longer used for now that the Jolly Roger was anchored. The fairytale book made a puff when Henry dropped it heavily on the wooden table.

"You traveled a lot of realms."

"Aye I did."

"How many?"

"The Enchanted Forest, Wonderland, your realm and Neverland. Four of them, though I would count my journey to New York a realm of its own." He laughed while he thought, darkly and bitterly, and soon another one to add if not two.

"That makes a lot of stamps on a passport." Henry chuckled, the joke missed to Killian.

"How do you plan on bringing your mother back if you couldn't summon her with the dagger; how do we locate her? I have nothing against sailing blindly but this is hardly the time for such adventures."

Henry frowned and searched through the book, seeking a detail that would help. "She can't have simply disappeared just like that, she has to be somewhere, physically somewhere." He added, his hands shaking. "I wish Gold was not asleep."

Me too, Killian thought; torture was not at the page of his repertoire anymore but it was something that could easily be fixed. Hunger, anger, after all, called for blood, and they needed to be fed. Rumpelstiltskin was the only one to be held responsible. Lucky was he to be asleep or Killian would have paid him a visit and sharpened his hook against the bony spine of the demon.

"Have you ever heard about a realm that could be the one where my mom is?"

"I am afraid I haven't."

He had come across a lot of legends along his three hundred years of existence, some of them were lies spread to frighten the most gullible of the sailors. Some of his crew had believed the words of mysterious women charming them into their net. Stories of lands inhabited by the souls of those who were lost had reached him and whether he believed them or not it was a question of personal belief. The idea had once upon a time seemed almost reassuring, thinking of it as a place where his brother would rest.

His experience over time had taught him better than to attach even an idea of rest to those who wander, and the sole though of Emma having to suffer through this kind of torment gutted him open. If it was required to go there, to cross realms made of bones, shades and dust so he would, but he hoped with all the fibers of his being that she was nowherenear this place. Indeed damn the Crocodile for being asleep.

"She told you she loved you. My mom, didn't she?"

The question made him feel uneven; he had known from the little he had grasped in the few moments Henry and him had talked about it that the lad was not actively a fan of his mother dating him. If Killian had understood it well, it was hard to see him being where he had wanted his father to stand. Emma's will aside, Henry's dream had stepped over his reality, his perception blinded by the childish wish for the union of his parents, and a finally reunited family.

"Aye, she did." He nodded, the conversation heading to an unknown place. "How do you know?"

Henry relaxed against the chair, his fingers tapping against the footnote on the page he was looking at. "She is not easy around feelings, my mom." His laughter filled the room with a warm note. "Just because I wanted her to be with my dad doesn't mean I can't see she is happy with you."

Killian smiled, it was the closest he got to the lad's approval and he held it preciously close to his heart. "I live to make her happy." _And I would fight until I gave my last breath to bring her home to you._ The promise, unspoken, was still loud between the two of them.

"She told me she loved me when I was dying. I guess she has a pattern."

Henry had meant it as a joke, and Killian answered with a smile while he could not ignore how bitter he felt at how he had hoped to be able to change this for her, to make a love oath be about life and not made at the edge of death. He had not failed, or so did he keep telling himself, for she was not dead.

"That's it!" Light flickered through Emma's son's eyes, "I don't even know how I didn't think of it before. We need a magic spell to find her, you know, blood or something that belonged to her."

"Like Charmed?"

"You watched the TV show?" Henry arched a brow, the corners of his mouth lifted in an amused and mocking smile.

"I have to confess I came across an episode or two on that Netflix thing." The end of Killian's ears filled with a pinkish color as he scratched his neck, "So a spell, you say."

Henry pointed to the page where Dave could be seen riding a horse. "Grandpa found Mary Margaret with a spell Mr. Gold had given him, an enchanted ring."

"Good then, we can ask your other mother to kindly do the same for Emma and off we are." Killian was up on his feet; having a goal set felt like being waken up from a long sleep. His limbs were not eerie ramifications of himself but aching with the need to sail, hope branded as a sail on a mast.

"Operation Cobra Swan." Henry said enigmatically. "If we are saving my mom, we need a name. Cobra was the name of the operation I had with my mom."

Walking over to set a hand a hand on his shoulder, Killian smiled. "Lead the way, Captain; I heard you sailed this ship almost on your own after taking it from Blackbeard."

"I had a great teacher."

Again with the proud smile. His previous statement had been corrected; there was in Henry hints of Baelfire's features but there was a capacity of hope that he had never witnessed in anyone. He was just a boy with a light heart for those who did not pay attention or judged with too much eagerness. Yes he wore as best as he could a manhood that was not quite yet reached but his heart was true and heavy with the knowledge of two worlds.

And yet, he remained hopeful.

"You should sleep." Killian eyed the bed, then offered it to him. "I will continue our research and see with David and the Queen how fast can we launch an expedition."

"I wanna help-"

"I know." Killian cut him off and reassured him with a beaming smile, "But you won't be of any use if you do not sleep. I don't think Emma would like to know you're wearing yourself out. I will not leave you out of it."

"I want to be a part of it. I'm not just a kid." Henry said sharply, chasing out of his eyes all the innocence that could be found.

"Anyone thinking you're just a kid is a bloody fool. From what your mother told me, you saved us all, and I personally have to thank you for my life."

Henry blushed. "It was the right thing to do." The family motto had never served the Royals' family better than now.

"You're quite the hero, Henry, and we will need you to find your mother and save her. But now, sleep is required. I will help you and wake you up when I'm done. We are sailing this ship together. Operation Cobra Swan is on."

The weather had turned around, as if it had heard the word of the operation in the making. The wind of the north had risen and was slapping Killian's cheeks, the Jolly Roger rising on the waves as its hull graced the port. Henry had fallen asleep; it had not taken long before Morpheus's arms claimed him.

The black car parked on the side of the port, announcing Her Majesty the Queen. He had thought she would come accompanied by Robin Hood, but apparently he had thought wrong. Her gait announced her modesty; a first, he supposed. Nothing less was to be expected from her at this moment; if part of him did not want to blame her because it would be sullying Emma's gesture, a lesser part of him was angry at Regina. Mercy was found in her absence of arrogance, and trying to beat someone who was already dealing with their shame was not the solution.

"Hook." She stopped at a distance, greeting him softly, her arms folded against her chest to protect her from the wind. "And Henry is..?"

"Sleeping on the Jolly; the lad deserves some rest."

Formal, neat. He looked behind him for the sea and tasted blood on his tongue. "Henry came up with a theory last night, if it is true, we might have a way to rescue Emma."

"You really think we can face the Dark One? You are mad-"

"You and I have an advantage; I have spent most of my life seeking a way to kill him and you have been its apprentice. The Crocodile told me quite the tale when he had my heart in his hand. Apparently there is a connection or should I say a key from freeing him from the curse and it requires crushing my heart. Being his oldest foe, having known him from before he was affected by the dagger's curse, I was the key to freeing him. Henry thinks the same can be applied to Emma and I."

Regina's attention was tickled, confusion forcing her brows into a frown before she spoke with incredulity. "I guess it is a possibility and even if you are right about it you do realize the length you will have to go to bring her back."

"It is all understood and believe me, it's a risk I am willing to take. I am way older than you are and I have seen many things. Death doesn't frighten me."

"Only fools say that."

"Or wise men."

Regina arched a brow, not buying it. "Before you decided to act all reckless, I will try to search through Gold's book, with the librarian's help; we should find more about this Dark One's curse."

"The consequences don't matter." He spoke sharply, "We need to bring her back; I will not let her be damned by this-"

Where she usually would have cut him with a look Regina nodded and raised her hands on her sides, trying to calm his mood. "I am not saying we won't; the Savior sacrificed herself so I could get my happy ending, so I owe it to her and Henry to find a way to save her, much like I owe it to her to make sure her pirate doesn't kill himself. For all I know, her happy ending is not complete without you. I am not going to ruin anyone's happy ending anymore."

"Good. We need a spell to find her, and Henry told me you need either blood or a belonging of the person sought."

The evil laugh that escaped her was good enough to freeze one's blood. Ironically. "No such thing is needed; a token will be enough. Do you have something of hers?"

"I do."

Power was a strange thing when curbed inside you. Her own magic had only been there, a part of her, something bright and warm, something sleeping in the depth of her stomach. It was a part of her and she had never been completely alone. Her parents' touch was dormant inside her, a sleepy animal caged only with the bars that she had put there. Her walls, her fears and her lack of belief in something greater in this world had caged the animal inside her. That animal once freed had not aimed its claws at her because it was her, and she had believed that once freed no one could ever cage that specimen of bestiality.

It was no enemy.

 _It was her._

The dagger had slipped from her fingers. She had felt a grip around her heart, something twisted, bleak and gloomy that tried to take her soul. She felt the hand of something endlessly dark, perverted and dangerous lurking at her, trying to strip her from her defenses, trying to put shackles around her wrists and ankles.

It tried to gag her, to shut her out of her own being. The madness had a rhythm, a low thrum that buzzed in her veins – she was not even sure it was hers anymore. Her vision had become blurry, the edges darkened until it was all black.

Her last vision had been of him.

 _Him._

 _Of course._

The words she had said to him rang in her ears, it was a comfort, to know they were now out there for him to hold onto. Whispered out for him – or screamed or simply spoken in a voice he would understand more than the words itself, she knew with a belief that she did not always have in the past, knew he would find her. She did not need saving, but saving herself was easier done when it was her own soul out there.

A darker animal was fighting inside her, it had wrapped its arms around the bones of her skeleton, dangerously wringing her ribcage and making it hard for her to breathe. It felt like an invasion of her senses. It required a strength that was inhuman to conjure the image of those she loved, her son, her parents, _him._ The demon crawling to break through her fought, twisting its unshaped form into a wicked mouth or were those claws? The fangs or claws it possessed tried to grind her until only ashes of who she was were left scattered around.

Were her feet on the ground? Was she flying? No answer could be given to her question and no words could escape her wrung throat. The demon had a tongue and licked the inside of her jaw or maybe it bit there, leaving a mark; her body was not her own, her eyes were not hers, the visions passing before them were none of her own. Scary and scarred it left her not to be in possession of her own being, not to be able to shut it out, she could not scream, she could not cry or disconnect her brain from any of it; not even the safe sanctuary of sleep could claim her.

In order to claim, there had to be a prize, something tangible, a body and a soul that were hers. She was not alone, there was someone else whispering inaudible words with a voice that did not belong to anything human.

 _It's a curse talking, it's a curse, w_ as the only thought that belonged to her, a thought welcomed by the demon who grinned at her with a mouthful of sharp teeth. The curse had taken body and form, and it was hers.

Her magic caged, channeled with chains, her eyes covered with the thick veil of power. It was a hunger she had never known, setting fire to a pyre of hatred that ran through her veins, abandoned suitcase of despair and sadness she had packed and closed – don't you dare looking back she had told herself, but the demon had no care for such consideration, it opened and spilled the content all around, finding each scar of her body and heart and laughing as it passed its perverted tongue on their newly-bleeding edges. The seams were disregarded with a dark chuckle, it looked and searched for every single pearl of blood it could lick out of her, it was meant to strip her down from her walls but not in the gentle way of a lover, it wanted flesh and meat and there was no mercy in its movements. It opened and scarred what had managed to heal, no mercy for the healing tissues of her soul, it ripped them off, isolated her and flung open everything it found.

She couldn't brace herself for any pain, she took and she took and never said anything, not for the lack of need to beg but because of the impossibility of escaping the demon's claws. Its grip was too strong. It sucked and swallowed every bit of her, every single drop of despair, of resilience; every single drop of happiness she had tasted in her life taken away. It was honey and poison for the demon, it crushed the fruits and planted a seed of itself in her, it had taken possession of her, taken her memories away, taken everything she had in her that defined her.

Their names became blurry in her mind until they were just like her, scattered to the wind, ash-like.

It dropped her somewhere, left her soundless, boneless. It brought her to her knees, the possessive term was laughable, it wasn't hers, it wasn't her, her nails gripped the ground beneath and dirt got stuck there. From far away she felt the caress of her hair against her neck, she felt the scream of her own magic now caged inside her, too far for her to reach. Her palms burned with a whole different tingling, it was not white, it was not glory and warmth, it was not hers.

The bleakness of the settings around her riled up the monster inside her - her, it was her, her heart, its heart growled and barked at the caged animal - Emma, laughing at her.

It claimed her. It claimed her soul and forced her to forget, to erase, to whip out the rest. The lights shone off, died at the feet on the demon. From prey she became ghost, from love she became darkness. She closed her eyes and was out.

It hunts, seeking something to feed the madness, the loud thrum in her head, the loud and crying desire for something to fill the chimera that had found settlement in the line of her heart. From bright red it had turned dark purple, though she was sure that somehow one touch of it would reduce it to dust much like the wings of a moth.

She was a moth, reduced to the nightlight, to the shadows that not only surrounded her but the ones that kept her confided; behind the bars it felt terribly cold, the kind of cold that forced you still, the moisture around her chilling her to the bones. There was no warmth, no warm thought to have - it had made sure she would feel ashamed to bring happy thoughts, summoning them would be an insult to her memories. Much like the suitcases she had packed early on in her life - all of her life, Emma kept those safely in the only place she could, her heart not her own anymore; she saved them in the curve of her breast, closing them behind the highest walls she could conjure, the animal inside her caged still but guarding the only door. She could not put up a fight against this monstrosity, she could not clean the dirt off her bones but she could protect this infinitesimal glitter of hope, of love.

The demon could claim her whole, it could claim her scars and scatter her limbs, force her magic to prison but it could not erase the marked fingertips of those she loved on her skin. It was a tattoo she could be forced to close her eyes to, but not one she could be stolen from, fire could gulp her whole, burn her to ashes but the memory of the person she was would live in the hearts of those she loved.

Their names remained unspeakable to her mind, but her own still existed somewhere outside this place and it was the only thing she could hold onto, it was not hope it was a belief that could keep her partially sane.

Nothing was hers, but this belief was. Even shut out, even shamed and cast away with no eyes to look upon it, no heart to pour strength but only the knowledge - thin as a leaf, but still there in the lining of the darkness. She believed in them, she believed they were out there in the shadows cast by the veil in front of her eyes.

The drumming noise called her back and the next thing she knew was that she was running.

Her feet were bare. That was all she knew, feeling the bits of dirt getting between her toes, the branches and thorns cutting her soles. It was frightening to be running blindly, her senses dulled by the demon; it kept her away from the rest of the world, if world was indeed something that could qualify her environment.

It kept her on her toes, forced her back against a wall with threatening teeth, it forced and conjured her scars to open, to bleed out until she was left, again, boneless, breathless, her body weak with fear and pain. She had spent countless hours, days, in the tower her own mother had cast her in, she had been screaming at the top of her lungs for help, yelled for someone to hear her prayers; the ones from the non-believer. She had known the truth in a world where the veil had covered them all but her.

Madness had its sweet way to creep on you, the demon knew it all too well, conjuring the pleas she had screamed then, reminding her of the danger that was standing at the edge of the precipice, left with one choice: to give into madness or to let the belief kill her heart with despair.

Back then Emma had believed it was torture, it was being swallowed whole by the ocean and worse, she had believed it could not get any worse – how could it? She had been alone, alone with her own thoughts and mind.

Sanity had been the slowest poison.

Oh, how she had thought naively that nothing could ever top this. How gullible had she been - her teeth flashed white in the darkness as the creepy smile of the demon became hers, the borders of their two entities becoming blurrier as time - _was there anything such as time here? Was there ever a here to be talked of? -_ even those were not part of her knowledge. She smiled and she laughed in a high pitched voice that did not belong to her, her teeth felt sharp against the tender skin of her lips.

The demon wanted her in a leash, wanted her to give up herself, as if giving up her secrets and body was not enough… of course it wasn't. She was not enough. Here it was, the creature trapped in the dark, always hungry, always living on the hunger of the anger of its hosts (oh the sweet irony of the term, she had welcomed the beast home in the swelling of her breast without knowing.) How could she have known? How could she have even imagined the repulsive perversity of the beast she had gripped with two hands?

How foolish had she been to believe she was up to the task?

The demon required her bare back, bent to its will, her conscience not her own anymore, he asked her with sweet talks and inhuman noise – growls, groans and yelling - to bend over to its desires and its will. It was not the desire of a lover, it was the desire of the beast needing another conquest, another host to bend to his wish, to his desires, it wanted her to be a partner to his crimes, to his vile, it desired to make her a demon and abandon all reason to him.

The latter had been given up to him on a silver platter, she had no reason, it was all shut out away from her mind and her heart.

 _Safely locked, she thought._

So she did as it asked, but she did not give in, she complied, from her own free will, the only small battle she would have won, she bent to its desire, not with its hands on her, but with her own knees going down, her lips twisting with a smile that was hers and not its. It was carnal, she was beast, she was its monster now but she was hers too.

The rictus grew wider.

It was never enough.

It reminded her so every time it could, like the cracking of a whip against the too tender skin of her back.

 _Never enough._

The words became marked in her head, like burning letters carved into her bones, marking her like the animal she had become, its animal. She could not shut it out, she did not have the strength to. Madness was at the door and she did not fight it when it tried to claim her, she shut her spirit, shut her mind and accepted the claim. The names she would forget would come back to haunt her, it was the powerful tool the demon had found.

A dagger of its own, used against her, a dagger for the demon, a dagger for her, her name erased and blurry to her now, one that would be used to bend her will to its.

Remember them, the names of those who could get close to you and find out you were not enough. The Swans, family of gentle people who had had their own child soon after she had arrived. The name rang in her ears but it did not belong to her anymore, if familiar it had been before, it was strange now. Unknown and known, the knowledge mixed with mystery she could not touch, the demon would never let her close enough, it would drown her but never enough to make her forget entirely, only just enough to blind her, to make her bleed.

Would there ever be enough bloodshed, she had wondered in a moment of weakness.

Of course not. It would never be enough, it could squeeze the very essence out of her and it would not be enough. Enough. Enough. She might think in her worst weak moments, it would never be enough.

Because that was who she was, never enough. The feeling twisted inside her guts, it was familiar, it was almost welcomed. It was her. Enough was her name, her plea and her curse.

Other bars came up to her, ghostly ones from a life that felt strange to her, a prison from another time. A name carved in the metal.

Neal.

The bitterness of the name was like the taste of lead on the tip of her tongue. The feeling of her insides being torn apart, her stomach hurting, her heart aching with the deception of a dream never fulfilled. She had forgotten everything else, forgotten sweeter words once whispered in the dark; they meant no damage these words, they meant stars and new starts.

All lies. All chimeras. It had been a travesty in hope and passed away as a promise. All of them felt so sweet on the tongue when they were received, but it was only when they sank heavily in your stomach that you were resolved to crying over the bitterness of the lie, finally revealed to you. The coldness of the feeling, the coldness of the prison, of the walls she had built around her heart, it froze her dead, her lips crackled to blood. It had left her dead-like.

 _Who cares for broken goods, who cares for defenseless girl left alone in a corner?_

 _Nobody cares for the lost girl._

Her skin and eyes could bleed until her body was pale, her veins empty of life and colors, nobody would cast a glance. He had left without a word but a keychain, oh the poisonous token, worn close to the heart of course, because what else was it supposed to be but the telltale of her story.

She remembered the keychain, pressed cold against her collarbone, against her skin at nights in gloomy rooms of untrustworthy hotels. She remembered the iced metal against her skin, remembered the coldness of the embrace of her own sorrow and dead dreams. A midnight embrace that she would give into only then, in the dark of her room, her bed never fully warm no matter the temperature of her body; no matter the presence of a man's body next to her, the embrace would claim her and force her out. She never stayed in one place for long, it was easier that way.

It had always been easier that way. Nobody looked over her shoulder to stop her, nobody had tried to, nobody remembered ghosts. Powerless as she was, not even the ghost of her was compelling enough to haunt anyone.

Even then she was powerless. And not even Neal's cold body could snap the feeling out of her, not even his ghost could soothe the pain she wore like a keychain around her neck. Her tongue was incapable to form words to conjure the feeling. She could not conjure happier thoughts, were there any to be summoned? She could not remember happier names, only the shadows of faces she knew she had loved would pass before her eyes in a matter of seconds, mere seconds of bliss in her reach given by the demon, seconds that were gone as soon as she tried to blink and make out the edges of their faces.

The soft humming of a name spoken with joy, with love (even if the word was meaningless to her now), she remembered promises - ghosts of some words branded to the wind and that, unlike so many others had not been empty of heart and oath, they had been weighted with the strength and certainty that belief offered. But if she could remember them, she could not map them, could not touch them or hear the words.

It was a whole new kind of torture that the demon provided. It was a new way to force her down, to make her contemplate the what-has-beens of another life. As hollow as she felt, as weak as she felt, incapable to hold onto anything, not capable to hold anything, the pain always managed to dig its claws into her. It should not hurt anymore, she had had enough.

Enough.

It was never enough and blood calling for blood, she always bled.

She could trust no one.

She had no one.

Just lies, blood and chimeras.


	2. Two

The sound had been buzzing for a while now, and it was a staccato that drove her near madness for several days – or was it hours? Time was such a stretched concept. She was just a she with no name attached, just consciousness in a tiny little box her own hands had made, one she tried to protect from the demon with no connection to the outside, recluse in a part of a mind.

They had been traveling, that she knew. It ate her and tired her – made it easier to control her. Her consciousness would decrease with time, as the hope drained out of her system.

It used names, never hers, always theirs; Neal, The Swans, Walsh, it used them as one would brandish a sword, sharpened blades twirling around her head and flying by her eyes. It kept her in check. Some had faces while the others had none. It filled her with a palpable anger, it burned in her veins, and it fed the monster in her. Madness was the word. It was not the absence of all reason, it was the filling of your mind by thoughts that did not belong to you, voices that were too many in her head. It settled down and raised a temple, prayed for more demons to come and join. Every time she took a stand against it, trying to snap her fingers together and spark something, the demon would growl and scold her for trying, branding the names in her head like white hot iron, ready to burn her skin.

It was just like falling, except the hit of the fall never happened, although expected it never came. Even the pain was withheld from her; there was no way to know if she were alive. She might very well be dead, she could not know. Was she a being? That was also a mystery; it was terrifying, her soul being gulped by the demon who found joy in her despair.

So she closed her eyes, or at least believed she did; reality was not tangible but her mind was still capable of imagination. To create shapes and forms, colors behind her lids, her hands back to being her own for a mere second. If she had been subjected to unwanted faces and memories, these were from her own will; her palms danced before her, her fingers trying to display the lines of faces she knew she loved. They had no eyes, like ghosts of the chimeras she had locked on, all very dim. It was barely enough for her to breathe but enough to make her heart beat in a rhythm that allowed her clarity.

Blue.

A color and a song in one, it called for more but she did not give in, feeling the light touch of a warm hand, sharply contrasted with the cold of something else. Words failed her to describe it, to describe the whole experience; little solace she had found in a corner of her mind. It was humming under her, a sound that resonated in her whole being, tangible truth and almost reality that shook her to her very bones.

It was a face, but the lines that shaped its expression and made it real were blurry to her eyes. The heat that fused her heart together was telling; it was welcomed in the moist cell she lived in, and the glow of the heart she could see in its ribcage was taking more shape than she had expected, coming closer, dangerously close. A voice in her head screamed, or maybe it was her own.

A hand around her throat shut her off, shut her out and she was no more.

Her imagination died in a shade of blue that seemed to see the very bottom of her heart.

Sadness it was.

Emma, was the last thing she heard.

The journey had led him to this very place. It was not that he believed in a heaven or a hell; after three hundred years of walking through all the realms he could find, he had long ago decided to give up any beliefs he had used to hold. It had taught him a great deal, made him bold and fearless, fearsome, some of the stories said.

Naive were those who believed that hell could not be found on earth. It was right below their feet, around them and nearer than one would think. It took opening one's eyes to notice the cruelty and unfairness of the world. No matter the realms, no matter the rules, magic or not, cruelty knew no bound, no chains. The perversity of the world was no mystery to him, for he had flirted with it, dealt with it, and even, to his greatest regrets, embraced it.

It was a dangerous thing, a waltz one was not prepared to dance. It would taint your soul, leave a bit on your heart and forced you to give up a part of yourself you believed you could protect from the demon. Knowledge did not save you. Darkness had its way of creeping in, and it soaked your bones with hatred and tempting ideas such as revenge and blood. Once you tasted it, it was almost impossible to hope for a way back. Killian had made his way back from it, and much like sailing a ship against the storming wind, it was forcing a tattoo on an already inked skin. Painful but worth it, and Killian was still making the trip back from the depths of his soul. Complicated and the work of a lifetime, he had not given up, for the light he could distinguish at the end of the journey was more than worth it. A name worth using. A heart that could be held in one's hands.

Emma Swan had been the element of surprise in the grand scheme of things, the element he had not planned for or paid attention enough when her role in the story had been explained to him. Only once he had underestimated her, and it had been the first and the last time.

Being challenged in such a way had been a first in many, many years, and it awoke something dormant in him.

Now that he was in this strange realm he remembered the feeling of the first time his eyes had landed on her. The white and warm feeling of something coating his heart, forcing the ice to break and melt, forcing him to remember how it felt to feel. Now his skin was cracking under the weight of all his years, the spell had spit him on the shore carelessly, his clothes were clogged with sand, his steps heavy as he walked deeper into the surrounding forest.

Maybe the spell had worked just the way it was supposed too. After all, magic had its own curious way and Killian had learned not to question it.

He had found her. Here, standing in all her glory even if the woman in front of him was only the shadow of the one he loved. Her hair was not hanging around her face like it usually was, making it far harder for him to recognize her at first; it was so harshly pulled back that it stretched her features. The lines of her face and other curves had been made sharp by an apparent starvation, and underlined by dark circles under her eyes. Speaking of her eyes, they were left haggard, skimming from left to right and accompanied by a twisted expression on her mouth. She was covered by a cloak he had not seen her with before, her lovely face was pale with dirt coloring her cheeks and chin.

"Emma."

The name escaped him but was lost to her. Her expression hardened, her eyes set on him with a coldness that did not belong to her. Her green eyes had been cold in the past, for him, for the enemies she had faced. Nothing compared with the icy feeling that crept along his spine when her eyes met his for the first time. Her face was grim.

"Emma, love?"

Her attention was glued to his hand, extended before him. If possible her expression hardened even more, reminding him of the look of a hunted animal, her eyes darkening as she brushed her cloak behind with a clapping sound, stepping in to walk in a circle around him. Warily, she searched his body for weapons, for something that could possibly hurt her. Too many details in the way she moved, cranked her head to the side, observed him, reminded him of an animal. She was not recognizing him, she was taking him for a prey, and he was stuck in her net. Fear rushed up and down his spine at the sight of the unknown and yet too familiar figure. Despite it, despite survival instincts that told him to turn back where he came from, he fell into the dance, pulled into the circle.

"Swan, I'm not here to hurt you." His plea fell flat against the curve of his mouth. His tongue was dry. His words lacked echo, and like ambers, they were merely scattered around, falling to his feet, no wind to carry them over. His voice failed to carry out, wretched by emotion.

And then faster than he could follow, Emma had a hand on his throat and the other hanging in the air, fingers up.

"And you think I will trust you." Her body was cold against his, her nails digging into the tender skin of neck.

Dancing fingers appeared on his hook. She fidgeted around the claps and buckles, waggling her way around it until she had unfastened the appendage. Whether or not he had the choice to let her undress this critical part of him, he decided to let her do as she wanted. His eyes scanned her face for possible injuries, to connect with her, too. But Emma deliberately avoided his gaze, taking a step back from him as if burned, the hook remaining in her hand. He ignored how vulnerable he felt now that he was facing her without his hook - a thought he quickly chastised away.

Never would he dream of hurting her.

"Swan, I know how inviting the darkness can be but believe me it is not the answer."

Her eyes were haggard, as if she were looking through him and not at him. Could it be that she remembered that one time he had told her about the alluring aspect of revenge?

"What is it that you want from me?"

Killian did not flinch at her question though his heart leaped in his chest. He recognized the expression she bore, for he had seen it on the beanstalk, when she had decided not to trust him. Déjà vu settled heavily over him. It was almost in defeat that he pronounced the words. "I want you to come back."

"To you." Her answer was razorblade sharp yet the hand that held his neck in a vice loosened its grip almost gently.

Finally released, Killian fell to his knees, gasping for air, his face torn by a grimace that he imagined to be red. He felt a pang at his heart for he had seen this expression on her face, the mistrust, the betrayal taking a hold on her features. Her gait seemed almost phantasmagoric when she took a step forward, grazing the tip of the hook against his throat, softly enough so it did not cut skin but hard enough to leave a red trail.

He had come with the intention to bring her home, to soothe the Dark One but he found himself captive of her eyes, prey to a woman he could not recognize no matter how her traits were still her own. Eyes lined with red, her lips devoid blood, white as snow; the irony was lost to her but not to him.

"So many years." She cocked her head to the side, a soft reverie taking hold on her. "Wondering why people left, why they did not stay at my side." Her voice broke, a whisper caressing his chest, his collarbone teased with her breath. "So many years wondering what was wrong with me."

"They were fools, love." He paused, careful with his words. "This is not you, Swan."

Green eyes flashed to him, the hook dug in his neck drawing blood. "You don't know. This is the real me, the darkness, the wrong and the bad, I was born this way - supposed to be born a monster. Dark." She leaned in, licking her lips with a deliberate slowness. "Dark, oh dark and bad."

"You're not a monster Swan. You're the savior."

She laughed bitterly. "A savior. They wanted me to be their savior; easier to ask for someone to fix your problems. I'm not the writer of a book, I'm not here to bring back happy endings. I was made for a purpose, to serve as a pawn."

Her hand, cold as ice, closed around his necklace and pulled him closer in a sharp tug. Under the appearance of soft features he loved, under the frail frame she bore - she had sharper cheekbones now - Emma's grip was strong. Had she desired to lift him up in the air with only one hand around his human neck, she could have.

Her nails grazed the skin of his chest, forcing him to momentarily close his eyes as he felt something - anger and hunger - burning within. Tugging more so their foreheads were almost pressed together, her tongue licked his bottom lip, teasing, his heart breaking as he felt the unwanted burning desire for her - so wrong, so right at the same time. "I'm free, Hook. Free of the shackles they put on me. They tried to tame me."

The sadness in her voice had clouded her face, cast a shadow over her eyelids now closed, and her head flirted with his shoulder. As if she had fallen asleep, her forehead brushed his shoulder and he was, for a short while, tempted to circle her waist with his arms.

Whole body pressed against his, she caressed the line of his jaw with the curve of the hook. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her like so many times before, but he was not a fool, he knew what she was after - there was a glimmer in her eyes he was too familiar with to know she was not looking for the comfort of arms. The touch of the cold metal against his skin was a gloomy reminder of the threat she was.

"You're not free, this is the magic of the Dark One in you, it makes you see your life through a prism; the darkness, no matter how alluring it is, the appearance of power, of destruction, it doesn't feed your soul. It destroys you."

This time, the words were freed from any sort of hold; they flowed lightly as he murmured the words in the crook of her ear. Growing daring even, his hand cradled her cheek in an attempt to bring her gaze to his. And to his surprise, as if she were a child, Emma rested her face against his palm.

Of course he had believed this dance was a small victory, had he not, after all, during these last days, weeks, hoped for this, dreamed of the touch of her ivory skin against his hand, her eyes even if full of their current uncertainty looking directly into his. Had he not dreamt of the warmth of her arms even if now Emma was cold as ice?

She was a soft and sweet illusion, one he would let himself waltzed with, even for the brief second. Sweetness had come first, but then like a veil falling off, it revealed the trick, conjuring and tempting; her vulnerability had been a mere mask.

Her teeth flashed white - poisonous smile that had nothing of the brittleness of her past expression - she bit down on his flesh, drawing blood. He gasped, his hand paralyzed for a moment by the bright pain, forcing him to pull away.

"You won't force me back in the cage." A flash of white teeth again glowed in the gloomy night, blood tainting her too white lips. "I am finally free from the burden everyone in my life forced on me. I finally feel full. Full of life and power." Teasingly, her tongue flickered over her lips and licked the blood.

A mark was carved in his palm; the injury was minor, but protectively, he wrapped his hand around his stump. Emma had turned her back on him.

"Your family wants to see you come home."

"A family doesn't manipulate you into being a pawn. No life, no existence outside the sole purpose of a mission. No life. No happy ending for the savior." Her head turned over her shoulder to glare at him, the sadness filling the tiredness of her almost smile. "Pawns are just chess pieces, never the queen. I would never be the queen."

"Emma." He said her name softly, taking a step toward her and then another when he saw she was not flinching or running away. "You're not a pawn. You're-"

"I am a pawn!" Her anger exploded, "I have been nothing but a pawn! Much like your hook, I'm an appendage, a tool in someone's hand." The hook was now placed against her pale throat, caressing the blue lines, pressing the tip that he knew was sharp, as Emma locked her eyes with his. "I refuse to be a pawn in someone's hand. I could kill the human in me, I could just kill it and leave it die here.

Another lover for you to burry and mourn. Would you take revenge for my life?"

Anger boiled tight in his throat, forming a lump where promises should be formed, and his lips were sealed. He could not answer nor give her anything that would soothe her aching desire. Torn as he was - yes he would give her everything, every bit and inch of him she required, to the end of the world and time he had said, and so it would be. Every bit and fiber of his being would be given to her; he had sworn so to himself and he did not need to brand his skin with a new tattoo to make good on this promise.

Promises to the dead were from another life. They carried more weight for the ones who remained, and so he would fight to keep her from crossing to the other side. Of course, she saw it in his eyes, she knew him enough, even through the clouded stare she bore, she saw his devotion and smiled at it.

Her teeth pulled on the flesh of her lips, a motion he had seen her do so many times before. "Because I will take my revenge on all of them."

"And what then?"

They might be in a glade, but the hidden shades behind him were more and more alluring to her, the dark circles under her eyes widening with every second passing. A second more and she would be lost forever. He forced his voice to grow bolder and braver, forcing it to fill the forest and its intricate trees so she would hear him and him only.

"You kill, you spread and spill blood all over the land, you seek the last standing man and what then Emma? You will be left with nothing. You will be left with a scattered soul and dead remains of a heart. This is not you, love, I know your heart, I know your kindness and your pain. You have no idea what killing does to one's soul, you don't know the feel of blood on your hands, the weight of it. The darkness is tempting, it's easy, it's empowering, but remember that once you take that path you engage yourself on a slope hard to come back from."

The words seemed to go through her without challenging anything, her nails scratching the tip of the hook, her attention on the appendage. Her mood changed at a destabilizing pace, making it hard to keep up with her. "Perhaps I don't want any come back from the darkness. I was born this way. My parents did something to me to change who I was."

"We are not born anything, we are the product of our decisions, our lives."

"Then I am becoming a monster." A chill travelled up his spine at the sound of her enjoying the new development. He shook his head. "You preach a lovely speech but you're nothing but a pirate out for revenge. You tried to kill me."

Killian arched a brow at her words. "Dark One." He beckoned.

Mockingly, Emma bowed, her smile sheepish as she raised her head, "Captain." At an unnatural speed, she crossed the distance between them, clenching his throat between her fingers. "You do realize how ironic your words sound? You are supposed to be a pirate out for revenge. You've gone soft."

This time he moved, hugging her waist, bringing her against him, holding her coldness against his warmth. Worse, he traded his fingers through her hair, forcing it loose until it fell down her back. He combed it between his fingers, ignoring the fresh injury of his palm. "I believe our lives are the results of our choices. I chose a long time ago to kill you." His lips moved near her ear, disregarding the hand around his neck, even if he spoke through shallow breaths. "I found hope. The slightest glimmer of it."

To someone seeing them, they would look as if they were dancing. Strange painting they formed, his black leather against her pale skin, his warm colors against her icy ones, a dance that would end with the downfall of one of them, an echo to the one they had danced at the court of King Midas long time ago. Killian almost found joy in a brief second, only to plunge deeper in her arms. No mercy could be found behind her too green eyes. "I will go to the end of the world for you."

"Then you're doomed to die." Emma whispered in the voice of a lover, her lips touching his collarbone. "How ironic? I hope you appreciate the irony."

"Believe me." He chuckled, feeling defeated. "I believe in every single one of my decisions, bad or wrong; they all led me to you."

Her delicate face tilted up to find his burning gaze, meeting it truly and without hiding. There was the tiniest glimpse of Emma Swan in those shining orbs; strong and vulnerable and endlessly lost, desperate to find a way or to be found. "And you die."

"You," he paused, scrutinizing her, as if in one glance he could detach the monster from her bones. "You will not win this. The darkness never wins, it might gain a few inches but your bloody existence is only this; sucking blood." For good measure, he exposed his bruised palm. "I'm not afraid of death."

"Good." She answered, echoing another time, another life. Smile not required, dishonest.

And with that, her hand plunged into his chest, nails digging into the ribcage looking to break bones, to break through until her claws could finally close around his heart.

"Henry misses you."

She tugged harder. Cutting.

"Your parents are lost."

Carving of the flesh.

"The town mourns you."

"You're simply going to die. Spare yourself your last breath. So much for good decisions, Captain."

"Try something new, love, it's called belief."

Shearing veins, arteries out of the way.

"I love you."

She stopped, the heart now out of his chest, Killian forced by her magic to his knees, he yielded to the invisible hand around his neck, to the burden on his back; the articulations made contact with the ground harshly, bones screaming in protest.

"I love you." He repeated. "You said the words to me before you left. I said the words to you a thousand times before and I will tell them over and over again until you come back to me."

White claws around his red glowing heart, Emma kneeled before him, displaying the show of her first kill to his eyes - a smile wider than a sunset on her lips. His head, heavy by the thundering of his heart, by the hollowness of the cavity creating an echo that forced bile to his lips, oh so slowly as if he were falling asleep, fell on his lover's shoulder. Almost lovingly, Emma cradled it with her free hand.

"Come back to me."

The words left his lips just before the ashes of his heart were scattered to the wind.

It worked just like muscle memory. The heart, it beat in a steady rhythm, eventually skipped a beat or two, subject to all kinds of maelstrom. She had put it, forced it, coeed it to sleep, to stop beating, to freeze the blood in her veins. Determined not to feel. Easier, but also cowardly, the feeling was easier to deal with. Alcohol helped distilling the bugging feeling, the shame that ran slow in her being; yes it was cowardly, but it was safe. Almost a perfect routine.

She had no alcohol, had not been drinking any in a long time - that she knew - her throat was dry and she was thirsty. Her knees felt bruised and heavy. Her eyes were not used to the glimmering light coming from beneath the leaves. She blinked once or twice, her hands she realized, were dirty, dirt stuck under her nails. No chain, no agonizing demon lurked in the dark. The impending destruction had been stopped, the screams inside her head subsided. Another emotion replaced it, her buoying heart relishing in the new-found clarity.

It was then she lowered her head, shoulders heavy with tiredness. Eyes opened to lay upon what was and what was not anymore.

Killian.

Laying on her lap, his eyes closed and a smile on his lips. First she skimmed her fingers over his face, his scruff, the tips of fingertips burning with a familiarity that almost brought her a feeling of home. There was no light to his skin, no warmth radiating from his body. Fingers cupped his cheek and squeezed, she shook him slightly, his body solid as a rock and so cold. So unlike him.

Realization washed over her and a scream died in her throat as she shook him more vividly. It could not be. It could not be.

"Killian."

Her forehead fell against his. Her whimpers shook them both as she rocked him gently. She refused to open her eyes now, refused to remember what had just occurred. Her hands still dirtier from the ashes of his heart. Her tongue tasted the bitterness on her lips, tainted with his blood, matching the one on her hands. It was quickly followed by the salty tears that fell on his face. Had this been a fairytale, her tears would have brought him back to life.

Her lips brushed over his with shame, undeserving but willing to fix the mess she had made. As much as she knew it would not bring him back, the failure still struck her deeply. There was no happy ending for the savior, and even less for the Dark One she had become.

"No, no, no please, come back to me."

With a bit more pressure she forced her mouth on his but it was as hard as rock, his body remaining lifeless. Nothing erased the smile on his lips, not even her tears flowing over his face, not even her fingertips tracing lines over his eyes.

She had seen him die before, twice to be exact. Each time scarred her, marked her with the image of what his lifeless body would be in her arms. Each time it left her hopeless, forcing her to come up with the truth of who they were to each other. First time was that he was the man she wanted but refused to give in to the realization of what he meant to her. Second time was how much she loved him and yet refused to come up with words to express the depths of this love - too scary, too violent, the silence had been comforting.

And silent it was around her, now sitting in this glade, the body of her dead lover on her lap, his heart scattered all around her and her lips tainted with his blood, his sacrifice sitting deeply on her heart. He could survive her being the savior but not her being the Dark One; he had willingly come to her in her worst form, loved her all the same and died at her hand.

Son of the bitch was still smiling in the face of death.

She refused it, refused the possibility of having to live without him. Oh she knew she could, had to for her son (oh God Henry). Just this once, Emma thought, just this one please, let this one live.

"You said you would go to the end of the world for me." A finger traced the scar that adorned his cheek, the burn of his stumble against her fingertips pleasant but her resolve broke at the same time as her voice did. Emma was only left with this; soft caresses against a cold lover's cheek, and if she looked around, she would only see the scattered bits of him she had spread around.

She thought of her parents, thought of how her father had managed to survive losing his heart by living on half of her mother's. Maybe the same thing could be done for him, maybe half of her own heart could allow him to live. Could it be? Could she make it happen with her own?

The hand that was not holding Killian's face rose to her chest and pressed against her ribcage, seeking her heartbeat. It was right here. Human. Alive. More than she deserved, strong, and yet brittle. It hung free of chains, free of the beast that had wrapped its claws around her. She sought the monster out in the deepest corners of her herself and found nothing.

Her mind failed to map out the evidence that was set before her; a choice was laying in her hands - she could go home safely, the burden lifted off her shoulders, her heart free, a son and a family expecting her return.

At what price?

Another dead lover was laying at her feet, his body turning cold with each minute that passed.

Another one. A tear rolled over her cheek. Her lips brushed the hair off his forehead so she could press them gently there. It had stolen Henry from the arms of Death, it had brought him back to her against all odds.

This time was not for miracle. Part of her whispered that it was not in any book. It was a voice barely audible, covered up by the heavy veil of sorrow that threatened to claim the whole of her, to swallow her entirely and leave her here in this glade. Alone. She was wary, tired, weary and weighted down by the environment around her. Her flesh felt burned, overused, too polished, tender to the point of pain. She would break if anyone touched her, or maybe she would turn to ashes too.

As a savior she should rise above it. As a savior she should dress up in an iron armor and prepare for the next fight, gun or sword in her hand.

Oh but she was so tired. Her eyes fell again on Killian's closed eyes, forever closed now; those blue eyes would never cross hers again, be it from the endless teasing or the most simple expression of his love.

She realized how foolish she had been back then, when everything had been so easy, just the two of them and two beating hearts. No demon taking possession of one's soul, no sacrifice required. Just him and her. Every eye-contact had been his declaration, his proof of his love for her. She had not always looked away, but she had missed the chance to say the words to him with the lightness that was given to her in those little moments she had with him. All of those precious moments, wasted to fear.

Oh yes it was easier not to feel.

Her heart ached - from being used by a third party, it was abraded from all the requests made on her to try and love, from all those heartbreaks, all the scars. There was so much one heart could take, only a certain amount of scars it could bear before it broke.

After a lifetime of heartbreaks, Killian had hoped, he had taken a chance with her too, and from loving his heart had broken.

And the bastard had smiled during the process.

Her fingers twined around the flesh of her breast, and her skin, as weary as she was, felt like iron under her touch. She could break it, force it to live for him.

Would he be the same? Would he be hers still? She did not know how these things worked. She closed her eyes and focused, letting the anger that was building deep inside her take a hold on her. It would feed her magic, but more than this feeling she needed to draw on the rawest feelings she held for him.  
So from anger she became softer, she allowed the wave of pain to wash over her, to crush her, her lips murmuring words meant to calm the sea away. It did not matter how powerful the storm, she would force her way through it, cut the waves and the ocean.

Curious irony for a pirate's lover. The thought curled her lips upward, her fingers stroking Killian's cheek, her eyes still closed. She felt his body, stone-frozen, cold. With her closed eyes she relished in her other senses, felt the presence of the hook near her thigh. The ground beneath her was wet, but not just from a late rain; Killian's clothes were damp.

Where did he come from?

How had he found her?

She wanted to rock him in her arms, to hold him and be there when he woke up. Her throat was tight, dry as the tears tainted her cheeks red and wounded. No words could come out of her mouth and forcing her eyes closed she kept her silent prayer going. Her hand seemed to burn with intensity but welcoming it instead of fearing it, Emma let the magic do its trick - no, her trick, it was all hers. Magic surrounded her, them, and enveloped them in a safe atmosphere. The sound kept growing strong though, despite the lurking shadows she could not make out. They were there, different monsters ready to take the place of another one. They lurked, they hunted, they observed and took notice of her vulnerability.

So her humming grew louder. She did not push away the fear - the deepest, the hardest, to be left alone, with nothing but a task in her hand and no one to hold the other. She needed him, yes, it filled her being and resonated in her bones. It did not make her weak but made her strong and bold with certainty. She could change this and write her own story. Someone could be the teller, she would be the writer. What was the point if, after all the adventures and all the journeys across realms she still failed to understand the outlines, if in the end, she was no one but a pawn, a vulgar pen?

She refused this attribution, refused to see her name be a bare mention or a footnote. Henry would be proud, maybe even admiring, for she understood now that wielding a sword had no meaning if she did not know what she wanted to fight for.

Soon the humming became a chant, a soft and low buzz in her chest that echoed within her ribcage - it formed a new heartbeat, a new hope thrived in her very being and only then, she understood what had truly happened. In her hand, a heart, although white and without a beat it was; she looked around and smiled, for the ashes had disappeared to become a heart again.

She frowned her brows; it would never cease to amaze her, the endless possibilities given by magic. She knew her own was strong, but to see a heart reformed in her hand, Emma only now felt like appreciating the extent of her power, the beauty of it even. It felt fragile in her palm, brittle to the elements, and eerie with the lack of beat and the usual red glow that accompanied lively hearts. With a careful gaze, she scrutinized what was Killian's heart held in her palm, looking for a fault.

Despite having no knowledge of the mechanics of the heart - the extent of it was how easy they were to break - she still felt the crackling of his heart between her fingers, because it resonated within her like a sickening pulse.

One thing at time, Emma thought; the shame would be dealt it in right time. All her attention needed to be focused on bringing him back. If she dared to let her thoughts drift away, she would be swallowed all. She bent her wrist, admired the curves and lines of his heart, shushing the voice that told her that he could wake up - if he actually did - without being the person she had known him to be.

As terrifying as the idea was, it was still better than not having him back at all.

There it was, the missing piece of his heart that prevented it to work, the smallest part of it and yet debilitating the whole mechanic. She gathered her magic into this one part, desiring to rebuild what she had destroyed, only to see it unchanged. Skimming the glade for the missing piece, the wind raised and seemed to take with it her last chance.

His face was cold now, eyes forever closed and mouth frozen in one last smug smile. His words were still ringing in her ears. She felt the moisture filling her eyes, again. His fingers had loosened her hair and allowed it to flow around her face, lulled by the wind.

The remains of his heart proved useless, but she could not leave him either, neither bring him back with less than a heart.

As if recognizing the object she so preciously held in her palm, her own heart had on its own accord started a race against her ribcage, the little hope and joy she had had a few moments ago and that had allowed her a rest were gone, replaced by the crazy beating of her heart tethered to the similar sensation of having lost everything once again. She would not be able to keep going, not fully alive, not fully awake; of course she would go back to Storybrooke, for Henry needed her but she did not see anything for herself in the future.

Tears dried up, cheeks stinging with heat, the solution roused in her like a growing fire. Methodically, her hand plunged into her chest, reaching the cavity of her heart and tugging at it, hacking it out of her. Now that two hearts were in her hands, one white, lifeless and the other astonishingly still deeply red, Emma understood what had to be done.

The mechanics of how it was done would remain still indescribable for her, how her hand had, burning with magic (her own, her very own this time) sliced and shaped a missing piece for Killian's heart. It hurt but no less than what she already felt, and even less than what she would feel, had she left him here.

Curiously, cutting a part of her own heart had not been the hardest part. The newly created piece would fit his, but fusing what was hers and what was his would soon turn out to be the trickiest part. His heart, with the absence of life in it, was fragile and felt brittle in her palm. She did not know how much force she needed to apply, nor how her magic would react and act on it, nor did she know how much of Killian would be changed if she carried on with her plan.

Emma decided that the latter did not matter now. Slowly and at a measured pace, she brought the piece and the heart and made them click, awaiting for the red glow to blossom. Her heart took another slow beat, a thump that resonated within her skin and echoed in Killian's heart.

Perhaps it was her magic that was at it, but Emma let herself smile as the knowledge of what had truly happened grew in her; she had doubted it, feared it would never happen, thought she did not get to have it. Yet, red heart glowing and beating, the realization washed over her as two eyes, the deepest blue and of the truest love she knew, were now on her, holding her gaze with nothing but pride.

"Do it gently this time." He whispered, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the widening smile on his delectable mouth.


	3. Three

It happened each night now. It roused her from sleep, the fear like a banshee located in the corners of her heart. Blood pounded in her ears, icy panic paralyzing her limbs until she forced herself up, her hands pushing the too hot sheets away from her body. The floor was cold against her bare feet when she rushed to the bathroom for a glass of water and splashed some on her face. She stared at her reflection, the dark circles that had barely faded before growing stronger with each night she spent panicked and staring at the ceiling. Emma looked at her reflection asking herself how much of her true self was before her. Since that day in the glade, the beast inside her had been contained, but it was nowhere near gone; she knew as much for its power and strength still ran in her veins.

It was still a delicate matter; handling her magic for the moment scared her more than anything because she wasn't exactly aware of how much of hers was linked with the Dark One's. Her heart a bit too heavy, she walked downstairs, careful not to wake anyone in the apartment. Mary Margaret's decorating had never felt warmer than it did now and proved to be the safe ambient she needed, a cocoon that would protect her.

A soft smile brushed her lips. It was finally a true home, with parents to protect her, parents to love her. Parents to look after her. The feeling warmed the heart of the lonely teenager she had once been.

On her tiptoes, Emma went to where Henry slept, which was the couch, where he had so stubbornly insisted to sleep, and even the comfort of a real bed had not been enough to break his resolve. He might be older now, his hair falling over his eyes - he would need a haircut soon enough – but Henry was curled in his blankets like a baby, nose shoved into the couch cushions and what was Emma's pillow; she had discovered that Henry had requested the pillow when she disappeared, not able to sleep without it. The simple thought was enough to make her lips quiver with a whimper, her hand brushing his hair away from his forehead.

He too, had been relentless in this quest to bring her home. It calmed her heartbeat to look at him; he had so much kindness and hope in his heart it still startled her that this little boy (not so little as he was every inch as tall as she was now) was hers. Hope ran in their family and Henry was the rightful heir of this legacy. He was worried nevertheless, but not for the potential she might represent; he believed with every inch of a true believer that he was that Emma would never pose a threat to them - and Emma tried not to think of the ashes in her hand - Henry merely worried that his mother would have a hard time recovering from what had transpired.

The book sat on the table nearby; it was surprising that the pages were not damaged after so many times being read. Perhaps magic was at it again.

Emma kissed Henry's forehead, her heart finding some soothing in the lines of his face, his features filling her heart a bit too much, making it too full as it blossomed with pride and love; she relished in the feeling and took the book with her upstairs.

Perhaps Emma should not be surprised that her pirate lover was up, lounging against the railing, his eyes on her as she climbed the staircase. Yet she was, and couldn't help it but smile like the reckless lover that she had become. Since the events in the glade, something had changed between them and not in the way Emma had thought it would. If she had feared that his personality would be tainted by the new addition to his heart, it was not so. He still was the same pirate she loved, the same man who made her heart do loops every time she saw him or thought of him. If anything, they were even more conscious of the other; she would feel his presence before he would even enter the room and if they had displayed an amazing synchronization in the past, it palled before the now impeccable synchronization of their movements, always together as if one.

"Did I wake you?" She asked, letting herself be embraced by his too welcoming arms. His lips grazed the crown of her hair.

"You know I'm quite the cuddler, love."

Emma chuckled, the book sitting between them awkwardly, "Who would have thought you were?" She kissed his jaw and pulled away to set the book on her bedside table.

"You're okay, Emma?"

She knew he was worried, and knew that he seemed to read her even better now with his all-new heart, though there was no confirmation if it was their new-shared connection or just him doing what he did best. Absentmindedly and forgetting she was not wearing jeans, she tried to put her hands in her back pockets, only to slide them down in the air before bracing them against his chest.

"I had trouble sleeping. I didn't want to wake you."

Killian nodded and got back into the bed, offering her a hand to come and join him. She climbed in and settled comfortably against his chest, a hand on his hard stomach, bare, of course; it seemed that pirate did not know how to sleep any differently, although you wouldn't hear her complain.

"You want to talk about it?" He tried, his hand settling on her arm and caressing her forearm, raising a trail of goosebumps. Meanwhile, Emma's cheek was pressed against his chest as she listened to the calm soothing beating of his heart, finding reassurance in the sound.

"It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I don't know how to explain it." Her hand skimmed his sking right over his heart. "Are you okay?"

His hand left her arm and he raised her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips. "Never better, Swan. When I say I'm a survivor I make good of my words."

She shivered at that, tensed in his arms and made him react instantly, his lips grazing her forehead. "I still stand by those words."

"You intended to fail your promise." Her voice sounded sharper than she wanted, but it was not so much directed at him but at herself.

"And yet here I am. Surviving once again." Killian paused. Even if he had, in a matter of fact, survived, Emma did not find it reassuring or soothing to her anger. Feeling it, Killian shifted to face her so that he was now lying on his side. "I would go to the end of the world to find you."

"I crushed your heart."

"I think you did that way before then, on the beanstalk, I mean."

"Not funny." She scolded him, rolling her eyes. "I don't want you to die for me."

His hand caressed her cheek and brushed a strand of hair away, sending feelings of déjà vu along her spine. "I know you want to be the savior and I know you're more than capable of saving yourself, robbing me of a stunning and dashing rescue." Killian smiled with pride, eyes burning bright. "A little bit of saving never hurt anyone, Swan. Allow those who love you to take care of you."

Scooting closer, Emma hugged his waist, tapping his forehead with hers. Slowly her eyes closed and she breathed out deeply. "Not at the price of their lives."

"It's a price I would yet gladly pay."

"Did you know you would die? Or that I would bring you back?" She asked with a voice teeming with tears.

Killian sighed and took his time with an answer; he would probably want to protect her from hurt and the shame she already carried for her action, no matter the outcome of the situation. Yet he knew her too well, and was aware she would prefer the truth. "I knew I would leave my life in your hands and yes, I knew the outcome. Rumplestiltskin had spelled it out before; I have been connected to the Dark One because I was its oldest foe. I hoped that it would not fade away even with the new Dark One. I only believed the connection already established between me and the entity could be even more consequent because it was you." Holding her a bit tighter, he braced her for the rest. "I did not know you could bring me back and I'm happy you did; I believe there is no limit to your power but I did not know if you would do it."

"So you took a risk and decided that your death was something I would be okay with."

Gradually, Emma forced her sleeping and tired limbs to bring her into a cross-legged position. Killian followed, sitting up against the headboard.

"I did what I had to do to bring you home. I heard that heroes put others above themselves. It was only the right thing to do." He reached for her hand, which folded on her lap. "You're ready to do whatever it takes to save everyone in this town. Let me look after you. If you put your life on the line, it's only fair you allow me to do the same for you."

She craned her neck, letting the anger loosen itself like a blossoming flower. Her eyes held his tenderly under the veil of anger against herself. "It's written that I'm the savior. It's written that this is my job." Out of nowhere and before she named the gesture, she had pressed her lips against his hand. "It's not yours to die for me."

Cracking a smile, Killian beckoned her on his lap, his hand against her cheek, her knees on each side of his hips. "It's my job to protect your heart." Carelessly and tenderly, he brushed his nose against hers. "You need to accept the idea that I'm gone for you. I love you."

Her whole body shivered, from head to toes, her heart shuddered against her ribcage. Of course she had known, of course she had heard the words - or remembered hearing them through a thick fog. "I love you." She uttered for the second time and for the many times again in her heart. She fell against him, Killian cradling her in his arms, "I love you." Her lips pressed against his only briefly. "You can't ever think of leaving me."

"I..." He kissed the corner of her mouth, his teeth tugging at her lip, eyes closed. "I wouldn't dream of it." His fingers threaded in her hair, brushing and gripping, holding her close, his face adorned with never-ending smiles. "To the end of the world and time, Swan."

She nodded. Her hand left his shoulder that she was gripping a bit too tightly to settle on his chest, above his heart. "You're a part of me."

Emma would probably have side-eyed such maudlin declaration before, but for lack of better wording, she followed her instinct, a smile on her face mirrored the one on Killian's. "And not just your heart." She licked her lips, her brows knotted together. "Do you feel any different?"

"Afraid I would be more deliciously handsome?"

She hit his shoulder, laughing before covering her mouth, suddenly remembering her family sleeping. Killian shook his head with more seriousness. "I don't." He pressed a hand against his chest, checking the beating of his heart. "It's strange, not in a bad way; I feel the same but linked to you."

He shot Emma a glance and cocked his head to the side, his hand leaving his breast for her chin, his fingers cupping her cheek. "Not in the way you think. It has nothing to do with the Crocodile's enchantment. Then I had no control over myself." He thumbed at her mouth, his eyes fixated on it. "I feel what I have always felt, I don't feel like someone is pulling the strings. I'm my own person, just bloody in love with you."

Emma's cheeks reddened at his words, her head falling in his palm and resting there as she breathedin deeply. "I never want anyone and surely not you to feel obligated by some magi-"

"Not happening, love." He shifted his hips so she fell against his chest, his arms around her waist, their eyes holding one another. "If anything I found us poetic."

Emma arched a brow, "I'm not sure finding your boyfriend under a pile of dead bodies can be qualified as poetic."

"You only see the downside of things." Killian rolled his eyes with a mocking smile.

"Says the man who thinks me chaining him to the beanstalk was a turn-on."

Killian buried his head in her neck to stop himself from laughing. Taking advantage of the situation, he kissed a trail along her shoulder before his lips met her ear. "I would have you know Swan, that I have never been more aroused than when you were yelling."

"Or so you said in Neverland." Now she was pretty sure she had reddened to the tips of her ears.  
"I stand by my words. I find it poetic, or prefer to look at it that way." He looked outraged when Emma rolled her eyes again, "Oi! It's the only way to make sense of all of this. Just listen to me before judging a man for his romantic views of the world. I have spent so long trying to find the Dark One."

"And then it was me." Emma's eyes shyly avoided his gaze.

"No, then I found you, blonde glory and a red jacket. Fine leather and a bloody temper. You happened to be the very same savior I spent some long years waiting for... I just did not know that I would fall for you." He caressed her face with his index finger. "You can think of it as fate manipulating the pieces of a chess game. Or you can think of it as something meant to happen and yet only possible if we executed our own free will." Though none of them referred out loud to the words he had pronounced in the glade, they both were aware of the weight of those same words said now. "I was meant for a life with you. And I believe it is no hazard that I happen to be linked to the one thing that could have been your downfall. You freed this world from a great threatening force, Swan."

"You saved the day too."

Her hands finding a grip in his hair, she held him and bit her lips. She was not sure how to say this. Killian sensed her shift of demeanor and steadied her in his arms, his expression encouraging her to speak freely. "I don't know how to explain how it was-" Saliva was hard to swallow as her whole mouth seemed to dry up so fast. "Back then. When I was different."

"It keeps you up at nights."

Unsure of how she would sound, Emma simply nodded.

"Do you feel different?"

"I don't know. I was there, I mean, it was me back then in the clearing. I remember what I did, what I said."

"Which are not actions or words I hold against you."

"I know you don't." It still surprised her that he had no harsh feelings after what she had done. Not that she had expected any less coming from him - it still startled her how much he loved her. "I'm just… scared."

Killian examined her for long seconds. "I can't imagine what being the Dark One is like, but I can relate to the darkness." He scratched his ear, the gesture so endearing to her eyes. "You can cause chaos, you can pillage and kill people, but it never fills the hole you feel in your chest. Darkness has the alluring illusion that it can help. You're scared and it's by being scared of falling back that you don't."

"That's how you do it?"

"I focus on the people I care about." His eyes grew tender. "On the one I love to keep me on my good behavior. It's not putting a burden on them, it's believing that they see the best in you. I know I have already said that I would see the best in you, Swan, and I do. But I also welcome whatever part of darkness you have in you."

"Even if I am dangerous and out of control." She hated how small she felt, how shame reduced her skin to a too-fragile veil around her too-bruised heart.

"Even when you have a hand shoved in my bloody chest. It would take a lot more to scare me off." Killian's eyes drifted to the book she had set nearby. "I don't want you to forget that you're the savior of this story, not because of what your parents did, despite the recent events. You are the savior not because of what the book says, you're the savior because it's in your heart." Realizing the double meaning of his words, Killian craned his head back and made a face. "It's not magic, the way your heart feels or the person you are. Even if you're the daughter of true love", he added with a jolly voice.

If she had planned on reading it before going to bed to soothe the nightmares away, Emma found herself tired enough to let sleep take her without it. Her room did not seem as hot and Killian's arms seemed far more tempting. Molding her body to his, she tried to relax. The task proved hard, because her heart, though soothed by his words and presence, was still heavy. "You really think we're poetic."

"I spent many years trying to defeat the Dark One. I surely did not expect to lust after it, or be in love with it."

"It's strange how things turn out, it feels a bit too much to be only chance." Emma mused. She did not like thinking of these things; her life was already chaotic enough without adding paranoia to it. "Some things just sound a bit too made-up."

"A little bit of fate never hurt anyone, love."

"I have met too many people in my life who had been deliberately put on my road. It's hard not to feel manipulated." She paused, unsure of her own voice. Her nose against his chest, she could not see him nor did she want to see his face when she said the words. "I felt manipulated by the darkness. It was me without being me. I was… trapped."

"It feeds on your fears." Killian stated with a calm voice. "The darkness, be it magical or something in you originally, it feeds on everything you have. It numbs you."

"You did not seem affected that much when I met you."

It made him laugh, his body shaking with a tremble. "Don't you remember when I let you in the cell? I was bloody mad at you."

"You were harsh."

He tried to find her gaze, his eyes soft and loving. "I had my heart broken by a lass." His arms tightened around her, his lips fell on her head, "You reminded me of many things, some of them great, others... Not so much. To see you not able to trust me was a big blow; you couldn't trust the man I was. I had become something I did not want to be."

"You still came back."

"Aye, I did." He grinned as he remembered the moment he had turned his ship around. For both of them, it felt like a long time ago. The memory made them silent for a while.

"You always do." Her cheek pressed a bit harder, her heart flooded with so much emotion. A lot of things were left unsaid; she doubted that her nightmares would leave her in peace any time soon, much like Killian were doing before hers. Emma would have to find a way to live with what she had done. She might not know how to deal with it now, nor will she soon find the answers to the many questions that tumbled in her head.

"You will be okay."

She was not sure if Killian was asserting a statement or asking her if she would. Tightening her grip on him, Emma surrendered a smile, because for the many unknowns, that much she knew for certain. "I will be okay, I have you all." She paused, smoothing a hand over his chest. "I have you."


End file.
